


dissent from the apathy (and don't ever let me go)

by Thementalistlover2013



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Abuse, Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Awesome Foggy Nelson, Fluff and Angst, Foggy Nelson Is a Good Bro, Friends to Lovers, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, Hurt Matt Murdock, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Matt Murdock Angst, Matt Murdock Needs a Hug, Minor Luke Cage/Claire Temple, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-Episode: s01e08 The Defenders, Presumed Dead, Religion, Slow Burn, Superhero Babysitter Claire Temple, Torture, traumatized matt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-15 23:07:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13041408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thementalistlover2013/pseuds/Thementalistlover2013
Summary: Overwhelmingly, Foggy realized, he had also been brought back to life.Matt’s fingers, although more thin and scarred, grasped at Foggy’s hand, fingers intertwining as they always had; through college and midterms and graduation and apartment hunting and internships and poverty and success and-Foggy’s heart was whole once more.orMatt survived Midland Circle, that much is true. But what if he ends up in a place worthy of the title Devil of Hell's kitchen? What if he's put through hell for six months before finally escaping? Post-Defenders story, Maggie Murdock punishes her son for the sins he's committed as Daredevil during his stay at the convent. The results are not pretty.*tags subject to change





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo, I've been absent for a REALLY long time. I apologize - I kind of lost myself there for a moment. I loved Defenders, so here's a DD/post-defenders fic for you! I've finished the story, but I left out the really graphic stuff, such as the entirety of Matt's stay in the Covent, along with a long-term recovery. 
> 
> There are three total chapters written so far, but I can always come back to the story and write more if you guys want it. As always, let me know what you think in the comments. Thanks for reading!

**Chapter One: Six Months Ago** **– Unknown Location**

 

Silence.

Matt awoke with a gasp of air. Stale and cool, but undeniably clean.

He was no longer underground, he knew that much.

_Gasping, clawing, crumbling, Elektra-_

He clenched his eyes shut, willing himself to intake breath ( _clean_ air he reminded himself, in disbelief) at a somewhat reasonable pace. He listened to his surroundings past the rushing of blood in his ears and the steady pounding of his heart. 

His heart was beating (but Elektra’s wasn’t).

Alive- he was alive and above ground. He was alive and above ground and _alone_.

Foggy. Matt wanted Foggy. He wanted the man to hold him again, to tell him everything was going to be alright (because things sure as hell weren’t alright now). Foggy would be pissed, was probably already pissed. He had to get back, he had to tell him sorry, and thank you, and sorry again.

He found that his senses were dull, his body tired, and his mind weary. Alone and above ground, Elektra was gone - she’d _been_ gone for a while now - and he was supposed to be gone too (unless he was dead -  _he was dead_ , _and this was hell, a quiet empty room)_.

Matt swallowed, finding the action useless in easing the pain in his throat.

_Focus._

There was a bandage wrapped tightly around his midsection, bruises and cuts littered his body (from both the battle and the building). The hair on his face was uncomfortably itchy, and gave him a rough estimate of the time since he’d last shaved (two months? maybe more?). A rosary laid on the table to his left, various medical supplies to his right. The air smelt clean, laced with an underlying scent of sage that reminded him of Father Lantom.

Almost as if he was in a church.

Nothing else was familiar – Foggy’s aftershave wasn’t near, and neither was Karen’s perfume or the lingering hospital smell (a mix between latex and disinfectant) that always permeated the air when Claire was around. Frank’s trademark gunpowder scented hands were nowhere in sight (or rather, smell), and there was no alcohol, herbs, or slightly singed cotton to insinuate that he’d been near his newest companions since Midland Circle.

Matt shifted a bit, nearly groaning audibly as his muscles quivered and seized in defiance. He found that he was not restrained, or rather, that he _could_ move, but it was not advisable at the time.

The sounds around him were dull. He could hear the shuffling of feet far from the room he was in, but there was no way he could discern how many people there were – none of them were talking and the shuffling sounded the same. A sudden high-pitched beep (microwave?) from the outside made his ears ring, and he pulled his senses back as his stomach rolled.

Matt barely managed to yank himself upwards before he vomited off the side of his bed, the coppery taste of blood and bile flowing over his tongue, making him gag again.

The world was a blur as he lost what little bearings he had, and he fell from the mattress, nearly landing in the mess he’d made.

The shuffling feet were nearing now, and he could only close his eyes as the world around him spun once again, panic crawling up his core. He bowed his head to the best of his abilities, thinking of Elektra and Foggy and Karen and Claire and Father Lantom and Frank and even his most recent comrades, Jessica and Danny and Luke.

If he _was_ alive, he couldn’t imagine where he was, who had him, and how he was going to survive an oncoming attack when he couldn’t even raise his arms.

The door opened, and Matt gagged as the shuffling feet came near, stopped suddenly, and then a belt whipped through the air, searing at his back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: Present Time** **– Hell** **’s Kitchen**

They were nice, Foggy supposed.

Matt had never been a team player. He wasn’t selfish, but he had never needed anyone, or rather, never admitted to needing anyone.

Then again, the minute he was roped into playing in a team environment he was _crushed to death by a building_.

Maybe Matt was right. Foggy glanced around the room, taking in the others sitting comfortably in Karen’s apartment (because they had tried to do this – whatever _this_ was – in Matt’s old apartment, but it felt so completely wrong Foggy had nearly died right there).

Everyone was happy, lounging around and picking at Chinese takeout. As happy as possible with the empty chair lurking in the corner of the living room, and the empty Matt-shaped space left in each of their hearts.

_In Foggy_ _’s case, his entire heart._

Foggy liked them. He genuinely did. He had trouble blaming them for Matt’s demise during the Midland Circle situation because he had _given_ the suit to Matt himself, and wow, wasn’t that ironi-

_But_ , he liked them, and they all appreciated each other. Every Saturday night (sometimes even more frequently) Karen hosted the group of them – Frank, Claire, Jessica, Danny, and Luke – at her apartment.

It started a few days after Matt’s funeral, when the excavation under Midland Circle was deemed too dangerous and there was no chance that Matt could still be alive under all the rubble; they blew the rest of the building to even more pieces, Matt’s body going with it. Foggy paid for an empty casket to be dropped into the ground (which was easy because all his fancy lawyering money was coming in), with a nicely engraved headstone that read:

 

**Matthew Michael Murdock**

**Son, Friend, Hero**

**“We must dissent from the indifference.**

**We must dissent from the apathy.**

**We must dissent from the fear.** **”**

 

And it was a small affair. Father Lantom took the lead as he read from an old and withered bible, tears in his eyes as he met Foggy’s from across the hole in the ground meant for his best friend. Foggy had only cried silent angry tears, shaking his head as he ran his fingers over the headstone, wondering if Matt’s ghost would be able to feel the Thurgood Marshall quote and get a kick out of it from wherever he was.

Foggy hoped he was in heaven.

“Hey Foggy, you want an eggroll? I got an extra one.”

Karen nudged his shoulder, smiling at him as she held out the egg roll in question. When Foggy didn’t look up from his feet the room fell quiet. Jessica coughed obnoxiously from across the room where she was sprawled sideways on a loveseat, nursing a beer in her hand as she stared at him.

“Yo, Nelson, what the fuck?”

Foggy shook out of his reverie, glancing up at Jess and then to Karen, finally making eye contact with the eggroll in Karen’s delicate hand.

“Yeah, uh, yes.” Foggy laughed, grimacing slightly as it sounded forced to his own ears (he couldn’t imagine what Matt would say about his heartbeat or sweat glands or whatever). “Thank you, Ms. Page, I gladly accept your offering. I’ll protect this eggroll with my life-“

“Foggy, cut it out.” Frank – the Punisher, Foggy reminded himself – barked the words out before Foggy could finish his attempt at a coverup.

How he’d gotten on a first name basis with Frank Fucking Castle he would never know.

“Sorry, I just-“

“Hey man,” Luke leaned forward in his seat, wiping his hands of the Chow Mein he had been messily scooping into his mouth with chopsticks that were far too small in his hands. His eyes were soft, as if he could read minds – and maybe he could, Foggy would never know, superhuman shit. “You don’t have to make excuses. I can see it on your face.” Luke paused, clasping his hands together and rubbing them as he glanced away for a moment. “It’s Matt, right?”

Jess looked down, her eyes glossy by the time she looked back up.

His name seemed to have the same effect on the rest of the room.

Foggy nodded, watching Karen place the egg roll down, her hand shaking as she did so. “Yeah.” He choked out, false bemusement playing at his features until he could play off his sadness no longer, not caring that his face dropped. “I just, I miss him. A lot.”

Foggy glanced at the empty seat in the corner, the one that no one ever took as if it was a silent invitation for the memory of Matt to take residence.

Karen sighed, a pale knuckle coming up to wipe at her waterline as she looked at the chair and then back at the ground. “Foggy, do you, I don’t know, want to talk? Or something.” She sniffled. “I know it’s been rough on all of us, but you were closest to him, and I know we all get together as a way to cope or something but maybe we should be doing more.”

Frank, who was sitting on the same couch as Danny (although on a completely opposite end, because he was still Frank), grunted in agreement.

“Maybe we could all go to grief counseling?” Danny piped up, blue eyes earnest as ever as he ignored the grunt-turned-growl now in Frank’s throat. “I know that I hadn’t known him that long before Midland but living in his space really, I don’t know.” Danny shrugged. “I feel his energy, his vibes. I feel even more connected to him now and it’s been…difficult.” He nodded as if satisfied with his explanation. He made unbearable eye contact with Foggy, who was frozen in place by the honesty he found within Danny’s eyes. “I can’t imagine how you feel, Foggy.”

Foggy swallowed audibly, nodding. He refused to meet anyone’s eyes, scared of the pity he might find there. He loosened his tie, sitting back against the couch cushions, and taking a deep breath.

They all knew of he and Matt’s past relationship by now. Of course, the Daredevil activities had interfered quite a bit and Foggy had called it off to protect himself – not from the violence, but from the lies, and from the pain that would be inflicted if Matt got himself hurt somehow and now-

_Matt was dead_ , and it was the worst thing he’d ever had to go through.

They hadn’t been dating at the time. Hell, they’d been as far from being boyfriends as they’d ever been. Foggy had snuck him his suit because, because-

He trusted Matt, he trusted who Matt was and who he wanted to be, as both himself and the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. He trusted Matt not to leave him bleeding and broken and alone.

He trusted him, and now he was gone.

A tear began to slip down Foggy’s cheek and he wiped it away angrily. God, how he was angry.

Angry at who, he didn’t know. Could he be mad at a dead man, at the people around him who he considered close friends? Angry at the universe, angry at Elektra’s walking corpse? At Stick who was the root of all of this, but also as lifeless as Matt?

Foggy just shook his head, braving a smile, a genuine one, towards those around him.

“I’ll get through it,” He swallowed, hardly believing the line himself, “We all will. I appreciate you guys, and I know Matt did too.”

Jessica raised her beer, pausing and grimacing as she shook it to find it nearly empty, but extending her arm completely anyway. “Cheers to that one, Nelson.”

Foggy tried to ignore the slight quiver in her voice, sounding as broken as he felt. The room had gone comfortably quiet, so he nearly jumped when a phone rang. Luke dug around in his back pocket and smiled softly at the name he found there – _Claire_.

“Maybe Claire got off early?” He said to the room, forever trying to lighten the mood. Luke answered his phone, eyes going wide, mouth gaping. He murmured a grave “sweet Christmas” that had the group looking concerned. After what felt like an eternity, Luke inhaled sharply, nodding, and standing before ending the call.

“That was Claire. She said that Matt’s alive, he’s, he was just brought into the ER- we, we have to go. We have to go _right_ now.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so technically this is the final chapter of the fic. That being said, if you would like to read more, drop a comment and let me know and I'll do my best (you can also suggest stuff you want me to consider adding to the fic if you have any ideas). I'd be happy to write it, although I thought this was a nice wholesome end to the story. Let me know what you think. 
> 
> Thank you (very much!) for the comments & kudos thus far. I appreciate it!

**Chapter Three**

The drive over was tense. They’d taken Foggy’s work-issued vehicle, a nondescript black SUV with heavily tinted windows. Frank was called upon to drive, as everyone else was too shaken or too drunk. Karen sat in the passenger seat, clutching Frank’s free hand. Meanwhile, Foggy sat in between Jess and Luke, heart humming dangerously. Jessica, although having been drunk and lax only moments before, was now tense and upright, eyes wide in confusion, as if she was already trying to crack the case. Luke was wringing his hands, nervously glancing at the passing street lights as Frank weaved in and out of traffic. Danny, being the most flexible, had easily squeezed into the trunk of the vehicle, facing the back of the car, eagerly on the lookout for New York cops who might disagree with Frank’s driving technique.

They made it to Metro-General in record time, and Claire was nowhere to be seen as Frank parked near the loading bay. Foggy could barely get his legs to move, Jessica helping to nudge him from the vehicle with a strong hand on his shoulder.

“Come on Nelson, now is not the time.” She murmured, making purposeful eye contact with him as she grabbed his hand and pulled him along. Her words, although gruff, were laced with kindness and understanding. Foggy squeezed her hand back, willing his feet to move as they followed Frank, who led the group effort.

Karen approached the front desk, eyes rimmed red. “Yeah, uh hi, my friend, I mean, our friend, was brought in. I believe nurse Claire Temple is taking care-“

The nurse’s eyebrows rose to her hairline and she nodded, “Murdock, right?”

Karen could only nod, shaking her head with so much force Foggy was surprised it didn’t teeter off and roll away.

“Follow me.”

They were lead through a series of double doors, Frank purposely keeping his head down as they passed various people. Foggy and Karen were eventually the two at the front of the group when the nurse stopped in front of a closed door, knocking once.

Claire’s face appeared in the crack.

Behind her, a Matt shaped outline was laid out on a bed.

Foggy was compelled to shove past her and _touch_ him but he found himself frozen in place. Claire stepped out and shut the door behind her, hiding Matt from view once again.

It made Foggy’s heart seize up as if he was somehow gone again, out of sight and still _dead_. Claire put a soft hand on his chest, eyeing him worriedly.

“Listen, guys, Matt’s not doing well, there’s evidence of, of torture and abuse, starvation. He’s stabilized for now but there’s no telling what exactly happened, he’s not talking much, I think he’s in shock. He was brought in by a good Samaritan who found him on the side of the road, near some sort of Covent. He had the brains to ask to be brought to Metro-General, and thankfully I was on call in the ER-“

“Can we see him?” Karen asked the question everyone was thinking, the group perked up at that. Claire nodded once, looking grim.

“Yeah, of course, I just, need you guys to know the severity of it all. Matt’s been through hell and-“

Foggy swallowed, he’d hoped he was in heaven. Instead, he’d been alive and in pain and alone and starving and _alive-_

“So, I need you guys to stay calm. No sudden movements or noises, don’t touch without explicit permission, it was hell getting an IV in him, I can’t imagine what a hug might do. “

“Yeah, of course, Claire. Thank you, now, please?” Foggy was about to get on his hands and knees and beg at this point. He just had to see for himself.

“Okay, go ahead. I need to go fetch a new IV bag so keep an eye on him while I’m gone?”

“We’ve got it, ma’am.” Frank grumbled politely from the back, looking antsy as people passed him in the hallway. Danny nodded, bowing to Claire slightly as she left. Karen and Jessica glanced at each other, honorary members of the Foggy support club at this point.

Foggy’s clammy palm felt at the door handle, slipping off before he reclaimed his grip. He looked at the others, almost as if questioning:

_Are you ready?_

He got a single nod from Karen, who smiled at him painfully encouragingly before he felt himself turning the knob and focusing on the figure in the bed.

“Matt? Matty?” He murmured from the threshold, allowing his feet to move towards the bed, hesitant but only reluctantly so. Matt’s head turned towards him, facial bones more prominent than before, the hollow of his cheeks stark against his face.

Foggy stood at the side of his bed, the others hanging back as they took in his haggard appearance.

Scars littered his body, even his face had a few, the biggest across his right cheek, white and shiny. The lower half of his body was covered by a blanket, his chest, bony and fragile, also marred with scar tissue and burns – both new and old. His hair was trimmed expertly, and his face was cleanly shaven – which was odd, but Foggy put it in a box to save for later. He had no glasses on, and his unseeing eyes were bloodshot and sunken in, surrounded by dark circles.

“Foggy?” His voice was gruff from disuse, or maybe from screaming, Foggy thought sickly. The blonde man nearly grabbed onto Matt, stopping short as he remembered Claire’s warning. Matt’s eyes moved, stopping on the blanket laid over him. Foggy sighed brokenly, tears pricking in his eyes as Matt flinched.

“Can I touch you, Matty? Can I hold you?”

Matt sniffled, inhaling loudly before he attempted to shift over in the bed, a near whimper coming from his throat; the blind man winced.

“Hey, wait, I’ll help you- as long as that’s okay.”

Matt only nodded, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Okay, okay, that’s good buddy, really good, thank you.”

Matt would’ve usually replied sarcastically to the ‘buddy’ nickname, but in this moment, it only felt right – it also spoke of how out of it Matt was. He looked so small and fragile, Foggy could barely contain himself as he moved ever so slowly towards him, grasping the blanket before looking at the rest of the group.

“We’ll, uh, come back later Nelson, take care of him.” Jessica’s quiet comment was met with approval from the others, and although Karen looked torn, she knew it was for the best. The group was too overwhelming, and Matt wouldn’t want them seeing him so weak. The door clicked closed, and even without super hearing Foggy could hear them speaking to Claire about going to the cafeteria, IV bag forgotten.

“Okay, Matty, it’s still alright for me to move you, yeah?” Foggy could barely keep his voice in check as he waited for Matt’s reaction. The smaller man nodded shakily, exhausted from moving so little already.

“Ye-yeah Fog, s’okay.”

Foggy nodded, taking one hand and cradling the back of his knees, using the other to prop his back up. Foggy asked if he was okay with every move, not wanting to injure the already injured man. He frowned at how light Matt had gotten, hoping the man wouldn’t be able to sense it on his face. He shifted Matt’s body over, leaving a bit of space for Foggy to squeeze in next to him.

“I’m going to take off my shoes now, and then I’ll climb up.”

Matt nodded, seemingly grateful for the narration.

“There’s a fog a’rolling in.” Foggy joked softly, earning a twitch of the lip from Matt; a success. “Still okay right?” Foggy asked, knee barely touching the bed. Matt nodded, a hand reaching out hesitantly for Foggy.

“Com’on.”

That was all Foggy needed to climb ever so gently onto the bed, wincing at how uncomfortable the mattress was as he settled down, hand clasped around Matt’s.

Even his hands had gotten thinner.

“How do you want me, Matty?”

Matt flushed, face earning the first amount of color Foggy had seen since, well, since he’d been resurrected, or whatever. Knowing Matt, he was probably embarrassed about wanting comfort and/or guilty about their past relationship, how absolutely touchy he could be and also how absolutely far they had drifted since even before Midland-

Foggy had to remind himself that this wasn’t the same Matt, or rather, he wasn’t in the same headspace. This Matt had gone through (yet another) absolute hell judging from the marks on his body, and undoubtedly mental scars would be left.

But if Foggy knew anything at all, it was how to take care of Matt.

Foggy had yet to notice anything other than the excess of flinching and quieter nature that the man possessed, but this moment was only the tip of the iceberg as far as he was concerned; he marked this moment down as day one of the rest of his life, as Matt’s resurrection had felt like his own – his heart was no longer a gaping hole for all to pity and say _thank god that isn't me_.

“Jus’ close, so I know you’re real.”

Foggy’s heart broke at those whispered words, and he could only nod as his throat choked up; _keep it together Nelson, don't be a little bitch._  

“Of course, buddy.” Foggy shifted so that he was on his back, pulling Matt closer to him when he noticed the man struggling to do so himself. He put a hand around Matt’s waist, easily lifting him up onto his own chest, so that the man’s head was cradled near his heart, and his body was comfortably propped against Foggy’s. The blonde kept his arm curled around Matt’s body, felt his shaking body go lax and tightened his hold. He buried his face in the blind man’s hair, inhaling the familiar scent.

Foggy was at a loss for words, and the only thing he could think was:

_“I uh, I got a Thurgood Marshall quote engraved on your headstone._ _”_

Instead of blurting the first idiotic thing that came to mind, Foggy stayed quiet, reveling in the weight (however slight) of Matt against his chest. The man in question yawned, fingers tightening in Foggy’s fancy dress shirt, effectively crumpling the material.

“You’re real.” Matt whispered, sniffing him, as if awestruck. Foggy smiled, however bittersweet. How did one reply to that - and what did it even mean? Foggy mentally shook himself - box for later. 

“I uh, I got a Thurgood Marshall quote engraved on your headstone,” Foggy mumbled out, heart pounding. “And I’m sorry. Not, not about the quote, but about the headstone. I should’ve known or something, you know? You’re not dead and I should’ve known.”

Matt simply shook his head, unseeing eyes wide and frightened as his shaking fingers twisted the shirt material even further, “I didn’t even know, Fog.”

Foggy nodded once, positive that Matt could feel the movement atop his head; he was finally sure of what to say.

“You, Matthew Michael Murdock, are very much alive.”

At Matt’s trembling smile, Foggy’s heart jumped, thundering almost painfully against his chest.

Overwhelmingly, Foggy realized, he had also been brought back to life.

Matt’s fingers, although more thin and scarred, grasped at Foggy’s hand, fingers intertwining as they always had; through college and midterms and graduation and apartment hunting and internships and poverty and success and-

Foggy’s heart was whole once more.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I am writing more, eeeee! I've made it to chapter 8 so far, and I'm feeling pretty good about it. I've only just touched on a few of those flashback-y moments though, just because I don't think it's like Matt to open up so completely right away, no matter what happened. I'm attempting to keep them in character as much as possible, and I hope I'm not doing too shabby. Anyway, here's chapter four, it's kind of a filler, apologies. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading/commenting/leaving kudos! 
> 
> If there's anything you guys want to see specifically in this fic drop a comment and I'll try to work it in!

**Chapter Four**

 

A week later, Matt had disappeared.

The security footage at Metro-General shows him stealing clothes from a nurse’s locker, baby pink scrubs and matching cotton pants, pulled tight around his still too thin frame. How he had mustered up the strength to walk that distance, Foggy would never know. How he managed to escape sporting bright pink scrubs, no shoes, and a cacophony of very visible injuries, Foggy would also never know.

The security footage also shows him (or rather, _doesn_ _’t_ show him) avoiding nearly every camera before escaping out one of the back entrances and down the street, all at approximately one a.m. on a Tuesday morning – coincidentally only hours after Claire went home for the day.

After that first night, Matt had closed off completely. Foggy wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong, but Claire could only assure him that although he had been welcoming to Foggy at first, he was a trauma victim, and he was also still Matt.

Now that Matt was aware of both his own existence and Foggy’s, he’d shut down. It was as if he’d allow himself some semblance of comfort if he believed that Foggy wasn’t real and that he was only dreaming.

 _Hallucinations_ , Claire had said. Matt had probably hallucinated Foggy during the darkest of his experiences, only to have him crudely ripped away each time he came back to himself; alone, in pain, and near death.

Foggy was seething by the time she had finished her explanation, gesturing to the cold bed Matt had left helplessly. Claire smiled at him sympathetically, looking as tired as Foggy felt.

“It’d be preferable to have him back, he’s still on a very light diet, and he needs to finish his course of antibiotics. I’m not sure where he could’ve gone considering Danny is in his apartment but…”

Foggy nodded, fixing his tie and shifting the hold on his briefcase. He had work, and he’d already taken so much time off.

He was _so_ fired; the term fancy lawyering would not be used in his vocabulary for much longer at this rate.

“I’ll go looking for him, I think I might know where he could’ve ended up.”

Claire nodded in approval and handed Foggy the last of his antibiotics, along with the painkillers that Matt had refused, murmuring a “just in case”. She also slipped him a list of foods Matt could and could not eat as he regained the weight he’d lost. Armed and ready for battle, Foggy set his shoulders and headed towards Karen’s office.

He needed backup.

//

Karen’s bright blue eyes burned angrily as Foggy recounted the story of Matt’s escape.

“And no one stopped him?” She threw her hands up, finally running them through her hair as she collapsed into her desk seat. “I’m going to publicly-“

“Hey, hey, hey, Ms. Page.” Foggy huffed, slightly amused as he attempted to smooth her ruffled feathers. “Don’t go writing papers just yet, we know how, well, how _Daredevil-y_ our friend can get. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, not even Matt’s. He’s trying to deal, and we don’t even know with what yet I.” Foggy rubbed his face. "I mean, him ditching the hospital is such a Matt thing to do, it feels, I don't know, reassuring?"

Karen nodded understandingly, Foggy smiled; feathers smoothed.

“Okay, so. What’s your plan of attack?” She asked, looking soldier ready. Foggy sighed, glancing out of the window, looking out over Hell’s Kitchen.

“I don’t think he’s up to, you know, donning the suit." Foggy pulled a face, "On second thought, I don’t even know where his suit is, but he’s definitely not well enough for that and I think he understands as much.” Foggy sighed, playing with the handle on his briefcase. “I figured he’d go to church? I mean the hospital report says he was picked up on some rural road near a convent so, maybe they helped him? Maybe that’s where he’ll feel safe. Father Lantom is practically a second father to him - no pun intended – and I think that’s where he’d go.”

Karen hummed thoughtfully, cocking her head. “That’s a possibility, but we can’t bank on that. He has other friends, right? I mean I know he doesn’t have much in terms of family but there’s got to be somewhere else – especially if he hasn’t turned up in any of our places.”

Foggy shook his head, looking down sadly. “Matt’s not a very sociable guy, I mean, he’s nice to people but it took him awhile to warm up to me, and I’m-“

“The friendliest guy ever?” Karen laughed softly, sipping the coffee cup to her right.

“Exactly.”

Karen blew out a slow breath, “Well, then. Church it is?”

Foggy smiled, hefting himself up and holding out a hand for Karen, who took it easily.

He had to be strong, for himself, for Matt, and for the group (of which Matt hadn’t spoken to _at all_ , and that fact was tearing each and every one of them apart).

Foggy wasn’t sure what was going through Matt’s head at this point, and he hadn’t seen the man this shaken in a long time – since Elektra had died the first time. He was worried – and also tired, so very tired – but mostly worried.

Foggy hadn’t expected Matt to ever come back, and after Matt had miraculously returned, he thought – stupidly, he realized – that things would go back to normal, better than normal.

He hadn’t taken into account that over the course of six months, a person can change. Hell, he’d gone from happy go lucky Foggy Nelson to faking a smile any chance he got, almost in self-defiance.

As if he was going to force okay-ness upon himself.

And Matt, God forbid, Matt had come back looking worse than he’d ever looked. Worse than Spring Break of their second year in college when he’d gotten drunk and kissed fourteen different girls in one day and got the stomach flu from hell. It wouldn’t go away and lasted for two weeks as if every girl had contained their own strain; Matt, Catholic Matt, had believed that God was spiting him.

Now? Foggy might be able to believe that. Bad things happened to Matt Murdock, unfortunate events that seem to shake his entire world each and every time.

Going blind and losing his dad and even before that his mother leaving-

Wait.

“Karen, you know how you said Matt doesn’t have much family, yeah?”

Karen nodded, locking her office door behind her as the two, joined platonically at the hands, carried on down the hallway. She cocked her brow, facing him.

“Yeah, well I mean his dad died right? And his mom left when he was a kid? He’s a single child and he never talks about distant relatives like you and I do around the holidays.” She shifted, smiling sadly. “I mean, he goes home with you and your family, right?”

Foggy nodded, hair flying wildly, “Yes, yes, exactly, so if he’s not at the church with Father Lantom then-“

“Graveyard. His dad’s grave. The cemetery off of-“

“Fourteenth.”

They smiled at each other, a victory of sorts; even if said victory was reaching an incredibly sad conclusion together. Great minds think terribly alike.

“After you, Ms. Page.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

 

Father Lantom had looked at them like they were crazy when they asked about Matt; he had definitely not gone to the church if Father Lantom’s offer of counseling had said anything.

The two had better luck at the graveyard, where Foggy had spotted the pink mass under an old oak tree, adjacent to Battlin’ Jack Murdock’s place of rest. Of course, it had started raining the minute they had left Father Lantom.

Foggy had been concerned about the rain, and Karen had too if the look on her face had said anything.

They’d taken Foggy’s vehicle after visiting the church, grabbing an umbrella along the way. It was a twenty-minute drive with standard Manhattan traffic, no matter how many times Foggy had honked the horn, or how many times Karen had leaned full body out of the passenger side window to flick people off and yell to her heart's content.

She was soaking of course, and the rain drowned out most of her hollering, but there was a genuine smile on her face, even as mascara left dark marks around her pretty eyes.

It seemed cathartic, so Foggy let her be.

They found themselves walking throughout the cemetery around 10 a.m., the rain mercilessly beating on the umbrella Foggy kept steady above them. He had to squint against the headstones, trying to find a few he had memorized that led to the name Murdock.

_Jack_ Murdock, not Matt Murdock, thankfully.

He finally spotted the tree in the distance that hovered above Jack’s grave, his eyes focusing more on the bright pink body laying across its roots.

_Matty_.

Karen breathed a sigh of relief when her gaze followed Foggy’s. They found themselves jogging over to the tree, thankful for the slight shelter it provided as they neared.

Matt perked up from his fetal position, pulling himself upwards painfully, as if ready to fight tooth and nail-

“It’s me, Matty. Me and Karen are here.”

Matt frowned, wavering slightly, his clothes soaking wet, despite his position under the tree.

“Karen and I.”

And although his teeth were chattering, Foggy could make out what he said just fine.

A laugh burst out of his chest, and he shook his head, a _what am I going to do with you_ gesture. Foggy squatted down carefully next to Matt, who had his knees pulled up to his chest, his chin rested atop them. Karen stood behind Foggy, a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah, well, buddy, _Karen and I_ are here to take you indoors.” Foggy shifted, deciding to sit cross-legged as his knees protested the squatting position. Matt didn’t attempt (or rather, pretend) to politely make eye contact like he usually did when he had his glasses on, instead his eyes were directed towards his father’s grave.

Foggy’s mouth fell into a small line, _not good_.

“What do you say? We can go to my house, or Karen’s. Danny’s been holed up in your place since-“

Since you, what? _Died?_

“Since the accident, but he said he’ll hike it out of there whenever you’re ready to come back home. It’s up to you, really.”

Matt coughed, a horrible sputtering sound that made Foggy wince just listening to it. Karen came from around Foggy and started to rub at Matt’s back before Foggy had the wits to remind her _not_ to do that.

Foggy had never seen Matt jump like that in his life. In college, he had always tried to spook him, and yes, that sounds like a horrible thing to do to your blind best friend, but Foggy had been egged on by Matt, who held the self-proclaimed title of _Unspookable_. So, it really wasn’t that bad, in context. Foggy had hidden behind doors, in air vents that were far too small, and one memorable time, in the goddamned dishwasher that perpetually smelt like fish in their first apartment.

Matt had always sniffed the air and cocked his head like a fucking spaniel before laughing, an easy genuine sound. He’d spin in a circle around the room and point his finger, imitating a sprinkler as he gestured to where Foggy was hiding.

_“I see you._ _”_

Foggy would sputter, because One, _how_ did he do that, and Two, I see you? _Really Matt?_

He would be exiled from his hiding spot, huffing, and puffing and stretching his limbs from the impossible position he had ended up in after hiding for _hours_. Defeated and frustrated, he’d slink back to his room, collapsing against the mattress to drown in his sorrows, forever a loser; he was never going to amount to anything ever – he couldn’t even be scary, how was he going to intimidate a courtroom.

This was, of course, before he knew of Matt’s _Super-Secret Super Senses._

He was a pro at handling Matt now. Maybe not at scaring him, but he knew most things about the man. Like how he liked his steak, and what temperature he preferred the air conditioner to be set on (ice cold, nearing hypothermic because the air _tasted_ better that way).

Foggy also knew that he had nearly killed people, and that his childhood had been horrible, and that he believed God was punishing him most of the time, and that he should also punish himself, and that he had some self-imposed duty to protect Hell’s Kitchen, probably stemming from the incident that stripped him of sight-

And that he loved Foggy, and that he had almost popped the question one night a few years after graduation but couldn’t because it felt wrong with his Daredevil activities still under wraps. Foggy also knew that he would do almost anything for anyone, save risk his friends’ life, although his own was always on the table.

Matt Murdock was undeniably strong and tough, the toughest person Foggy had ever known. He was stronger than Luke’s bulletproof skin and Jessica’s super strength (along with her alcohol tolerance) and Danny’s fucking dragon fist- and he was human. And he had suffered. But he had never been scared.

The shaking man now in his lap told of another story.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I hope you all had/are having a great holiday! I'd like to say thank you again for all of the nice comments/kudos/bookmarks and overall reads. I also wanted to let you know that this story is going a bit slower than I had expected, but I've already written a few chapters that feature Maggie and Matt (the next one is chapter 8 I believe), so be on the lookout for those (as well as more featuring the Defenders & Frank). I'd also like to note that I'm attempting to keep them in character as much as possible, and I hope I'm doing an acceptable job given the situations I've placed them in (such as Matt/Foggy being exes and Matt's actions in general, for the most part). 
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you think in the comments. I appreciate all of the support! Thank you.

**Chapter Six**

“Oh my God, Matt, I’m so sorry, I forgot, I just, God I’m so stupid-“

“Karen, it’s, it’s fine. _I_ _’m_ stupid, just, I’m sorry, for worrying you both-“

He buried his face in Foggy’s collar as his words were choked off by a sob, hot tears falling from his face and into the crook of Foggy’s neck.

Foggy wasn’t sure if he should touch Matt or not, but he found himself wrapping both arms around the man as he shook, deciding to risk the contact considering Matt had felt safe in his arms before.

Matt melted into his body ( _good choice_ , Foggy’s mind supplied), sobs wracking his thin form, his face red and blotchy (like it always got when he cried). Foggy held on tight, finding himself stronger than the other man for once as he pulled him close, one hand curled around the nape of his neck.

“Just _leave_ me here, it’s where I belong-“

Foggy flinched, recovering quickly.

“Matthew, don’t you ever say that to me again.” Foggy murmured, tears pricking his own eyes. Karen stood awkwardly above them, a hand on her forehead, looking far more stressed and sorry than she had any right to be; Karen was the sweetest person Foggy knew.

“Hey, Karebear?” The nickname was an old endearment, from when they all worked together, Nelson & Murdock era. Foggy would walk into the office each morning, handing Karen a bagel from the bakery near his apartment, and in return, she’d hand him a cup of freshly brewed office coffee.

Matt wasn’t Daredevil, just his best friend, his law partner, his _boyfriend_. Genius and charming and sweet and handsome and honest.

Things were so much simpler then.

“Karen? You with me?”

She seemed to snap out of whatever trance she’d been put in, making eye contact through the tears that threatened to fall; she was never going to forgive herself for this one.

“Here, take my keys and the umbrella and pull the car around.” He paused, gauging her reaction. “You think you can handle that, Karebear?” His voice was calm and kind, despite Matt clinging to him for dear life.

Karen nodded, seemingly relieved now that she had a mission. She grabbed the umbrella from next to Foggy, hands shaking as she was handed the keys to the SUV. The mascara running down her face had only made her look even more pitiful, Foggy wished she wouldn’t blame herself; malicious intent was so unlike Karen, it had been an accident undoubtedly.

She glanced at Matt, looking incredibly apologetic, “I’m really sorry Matt, I’ll go get the car.”

Matt sniffled in response, feeling a bit heavier against Foggy as if he had cried himself to a sleep-like state. Foggy thanked God for Claire, blessing him with antibiotics and knowledge. He was equipped to take care of Matt himself, although all of his dressings were now soaking wet and the cough that had developed sounded anything but good.

_They_ _’d be okay_ , Foggy told himself, an internal mantra to keep him from going batshit crazy with worry at this point.

“Matt? Matty?” Foggy shook him gently, watching Karen pull up, thankfully as close to the tree as she could get. Matt stirred, eyes opening as Foggy ran a hand through his hair, scratching at his scalp a bit, just as Matt liked.

“Sorry, I’m-“ Matt attempted to snake his way off of Foggy’s lap, but Foggy’s hold was unrelenting. The ground was slick, and Matt had no shoes on. Foggy waited until Matt stopped his weak struggling.

“You’re fine, Matt. I’ve got you, I don’t mind.” Foggy brushed a wet strand of hair off of his forehead, aware of Karen’s gaze from the car, the woman standing with the umbrella, ready to herd them into the warmth of the vehicle. Matt nodded, slightly reassured that he wasn’t a burden on Foggy, and only pulled back a bit, looking embarrassed.

“Do you think you can walk?”

Matt’s nod of affirmation was a little too enthusiastic, but Foggy decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, pulling himself into a standing position and taking Matt with him.

It was pitifully easy to lift him nowadays.

“Okay buddy, Karen is bringing over the umbrella, she won’t touch you.”

Matt looked abashed, nodding once as he clutched onto Foggy, legs already shaking.

“Let’s try this walking thing, yeah?” Karen piped up from the left side of Foggy, dutifully holding the umbrella as she attempted to lighten the mood. Matt’s lip twitched, and he slowly lifted a barefoot, nearly faceplanting as he put it down.

Foggy kept him from hitting the ground, biting his lip as the rain picked up.

“Can I lift you up, Matty? Only to the car and then we’re home free.”

Matt flushed red, whether it was from exertion or embarrassment, Foggy couldn’t tell. The man attempted one last step, failing as his foot slipped in the mud underneath them. He closed his eyes, and breathed out very carefully, as if disappointed and ashamed of himself – as if he knew he needed help but accepting it might be the very death of him.

“Yes, Foggy, I’m sorry, thank you.” The words were spoken through gritted, chattering teeth.

That was all Foggy needed to carefully move one arm to Matt’s shoulders, the other down to the joint of his knees. He swiftly got the man up and into his arms, bridal style. Karen adjusted the coverage of the umbrella, so the rain wouldn’t beat on Matt’s face.

Matt buried his head into the crook of Foggy’s arm, body seeming to shake even more as the three of them started to move. While it was worrisome, Foggy only had one goal in mind at the moment; he needed to get Matt home, dry and warm and safe, away from his father’s corpse and the torrential rain.

They made it to the SUV within minutes, climbing the small hill and reaching the top with some effort, as the ground was dangerously slick. Karen abandoned the umbrella in favor of opening the back door, Foggy easily squeezing the two of them into the large vehicle, Matt still perched on his lap. Karen shut the door and Matt flinched at the noise, turning a bit red once again.

Foggy only ran a hand through his hair, not caring that the man was still in his lap, as he hadn’t made any effort to move off. He buckled them both in like that, ignoring Matt’s apology once again.

“Don’t apologize, you have nothing to be sorry for.”

Karen made it to the front seat, putting the umbrella away and starting the engine. She turned the heat on, directing it towards the back of the vehicle. Matt shivered imperceptibly, so Foggy tightened his hold around the man, who was slowly relaxing.

“Where to?” Karen asked softly, light jazz music playing over the radio from her and Foggy’s ride over. Matt perked up a bit, looking conflicted; his eyes shifted a bit.

“My apartment.” Foggy answered easily.

Matt hadn’t been there in almost a year. They were far too argumentative with each other over the course of the whole “I’m Daredevil and I’m also bleeding to death” situation. Foggy knew Matt had lingered outside before, had heard the man’s footsteps, knew he was watching out, no matter their differences. Then Midland Circle collapsed and Foggy had never thought he’d hear those footsteps again; never thought Matt would come back to him.

Foggy knew that his place had always been home to Matt.

He’d felt bad every time he’d heard the footsteps on his fire escape, but both of them were far too stubborn to do anything about it. Then Karen was suddenly in the know and Foggy was conflicted as ever. The Midland Circle situation and Matt’s subsequent death had made him realize a lot of things.

Matt would always be welcome in his home, from here on out, no matter what. And they would talk, like grown adults, about the problems they faced. Foggy was never going to jeopardize the time they had left together, never again would he be so childish; judging by the way Matt was clinging to him, he felt the same way.

Karen started driving, and Foggy petted at Matt’s hair comfortingly; he knew the man got carsick.

“Are you okay staying with me? It’s not too late to kick Danny out, he’ll understand.”

_I'll understand._

Matt’s mouth opened and closed, his eyes centered on Foggy’s shoulder, just too far to the right to reach his face. He coughed, doubling over a bit, breathing raggedly. After Matt settled down again, Foggy looked at him expectantly.

“I, uh, if you’re okay with- with me, being there, with you.” Matt awkwardly stumbled over his words, and Foggy knew that he would’ve responded the same way even before Midland Circle.

He’d always had a hard time accepting these sorts of gestures; feelings and communication were somewhat of a foreign concept to the man.

Foggy nodded, humming lightly, “Of course, Matt. I don’t hate you.” He laughed a little, twirling his fingers in Matt’s wet hair. “It’s actually the opposite. I’m just, happy you’re here. I want to help you get better-“

Matt looked teary-eyed again but quickly hid it by ducking his head, slyly out of view of Foggy’s gaze. He shifted and curled into Foggy’s shoulder, too thin arms wrapped around his neck, scrawny legs following suit around the blonde man’s waist. Foggy felt Matt sniff him, and he hoped he smelled okay; judging by the blind man’s content sigh, Foggy smelt just fine.

“Thank you, Foggy.”

“I love you too, Matt.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if this chapter necessarily needs a trigger warning, but this is when stuff starts to unravel. So, TW; nightmare/flashback thingy (related to abusive mother), in this chapter. And of course, I'll post another for the next couple. Yes. Carry on. 
> 
> Also, thank you all for the support so far. I really, really appreciate it.

**Chapter Seven**

The ride to the apartment was uneventful as Matt fell asleep. Karen made meaningful eye contact from the driver’s seat, of which Foggy returned with a soft, slightly broken smile; words couldn't express the range of emotions he was feeling at the moment anyway. 

He had Matt back, he was safe, and he was going to get better, eventually; and even if he wasn’t 100%, Foggy would love him the same.

Karen looked at him from the rearview once more, and Foggy mouthed a ‘thank you’ to her. She rolled her eyes, and she could almost hear what she was thinking.

_Thank you for terrifying him? Thank you for messing up and touching him even after Claire_ _’s warnings?_

‘Thank you’, Foggy reasserted, giving her a genuine smile as he rubbed Matt’s head. She nodded once, seeming to accept his gratitude as she continued driving through lunch hour traffic.

Everything was calm until suddenly it wasn’t.

Matt twitched a little, a seemingly normal movement while in sleep. Foggy brushed it off, knowing the man kicked and rolled mercilessly during the night usually; this was nothing compared to what he had to deal with when they were dating.

Out of nowhere, Matt started to spasm, eyes open but completely unseeing as he pushed away from Foggy with the little strength he had left; Foggy was forced to unbuckle the seatbelt he had around both of them to avoid Matt’s limbs being thrown at him. Karen nearly rear-ended a taxi cab as Matt howled in pain.

“Get ‘way from me, _don_ _’t_ fucking touch me again-“

“Karen, lock the doors-“ Foggy tried to keep his voice level but it was difficult when Matt was thrashing so much.

“Not my mom, you’re not my mom, I WON’T CALL YOU THAT-“

“Matty, Matty it’s Foggy, please, buddy, come on. Come back to me.” Foggy had tried to touch him to wake him from whatever this was, but he had only flinched and recoiled. He was going to have to talk Matt out of it. The man growled.

“Stop, I said stop it-“

“MATTY, listen to me-“

Matt suddenly paused, his lack of shouting leaving the car silent. His breath was heaving, and before Foggy knew it, Matt was doubling over to cough, wheezing as he did so.

“Matt?” 

His head raised at his name, a spark of recognition on his face.

“Foggy?”

The way he said Foggy’s name brought the blonde man back to the first day in the hospital - it was as if he had pulled Matt from another place.

Six months of torture, six whole months of endless possibilities, he reminded himself.  

As much as Matt could pretend he was doing okay, doing better, he definitely needed help; maybe even professional help, help that Foggy couldn’t give.

The thought broke his heart. Maybe he wasn’t as prepared for this as he had originally thought, even with Claire’s help.

Matt was looking towards him expectantly, sitting against the opposite door of the SUV, legs pulled up under his chin. His whole body was quivering.

“Yeah, Matty, it’s me, Foggy…Are you, I mean, I know it’s a stupid thing to ask, but, are you okay?”

Matt looked down, eyes wide as they moved around the car, stopping nowhere in particular. Foggy saw the exact moment he shut down, jaw clenching dangerously. 

“Had a bad dream, I’ll be fine. I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“I wasn’t scared-“

Matt cocked his head, “That’s a lie, I can,” He looked away for a minute as if remembering that both Foggy and Karen knew of his abilities. “I can smell it, on both of you.”

Karen looked down for a moment, averting her gaze back to the traffic ahead of them. It seemed like time stood still as they remained in place, an obnoxious carpet store jingle playing over the radio. Foggy swallowed.

“Listen to my heart, Matty. I wasn’t scared of you, I was scared for you. I’m sure Karen feels the same.”

Matt cocked his head, seemingly satisfied with both of their heart rates as he nodded once; Foggy couldn't help but notice the subdued look on his face, a mixture of shame and weariness, he was obviously uncomfortable.

“I’m still sorry, didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

Foggy shrugged nonchalant, settling back into the seat he was in before, “I’ll be here to wake you when you need it, scouts honor.”

Foggy patted his lap, an offer to Matt, to show him that he wasn’t afraid; that his – whatever this was - didn’t change a thing between them. Matt looked towards him skeptically, slowly uncurling his body and scooting closer to the blonde man.

“You were never a scout, Franklin.”

“You sound like my mother, _Matthew_.”

Foggy made note of Matt’s flinch, almost as if hearing the word ‘mother’ had been a punch to the gut. What was that about? Maybe the person Matt had been yelling at-

_Box for later_ , Foggy determined, and until then, he wouldn’t slip up.

Despite everything, Matt inched his way into Foggy’s lap, the blonde man helping him get comfortable. He ended up sitting on Foggy’s thighs sideways, legs extended onto another seat as he leaned his head against Foggy’s heart, mop of hair under the bigger man’s chin. Foggy hooked an arm around his back to keep him from moving too much, buckling them in as he did before. His hand ended up resting on Matt’s bony hip, the other hand under the blind man’s ministrations as he fiddled with Foggy’s fingers absentmindedly, tracing shapes into his palm.

They hadn’t touched this much in a year or so, when they were happily together, and Matt would cuddle with him every chance he got because Foggy _smelled like home;_ he would also kill Foggy if he outed him on his touchiness, so it surprised the blonde man that he was acting so friendly in front of Karen.

Maybe he didn’t realize that the woman was practically melting in the front seat at the sight of them as she quietly observed from the rear view. Maybe he knew, and he couldn’t find the energy to care.

Foggy enjoyed it nonetheless, as he had only dreamt of holding Matt again until a week ago.

They’d be okay, he reminded himself.

Matt traced a spiral onto his palm, hands shaking slightly. 

_They’d be okay._

Foggy's hold on Matt grew a little tighter. 

_They had to be._

Karen hummed along to the radio, and everything felt almost normal, except it wasn't - it might never be again and Foggy was _so far_ out of his league, he could barely remember what things had been like before. The week since Matt had re-emerged had felt like an eternity, almost as if they'd all aged a thousand years. Foggy was grasping at straws, the only thing keeping him steady being Matt's presence and Karen's eyes, securing him in the moment. 

He felt like falling apart but he couldn't. He wouldn't.

_There was no other choice but to be okay._


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW; abuse & language & kidnapping & probably something else.

**Chapter Eight: Six Months Ago** **– Unknown Location**

He had eventually passed out when a piece of steel chain was added to the mix.

Matt could taste his own blood in the air as he awoke the second time around; he wasn’t sure if there was any skin left on his back, but he was positive of his absolute misery.

He found himself tied to the bed he had fallen off of previously, thankfully laid on his stomach. His limbs were stretched and tied to the bedposts, muscles uncomfortably cramping. When he completely came to he realized he was covered in cool urine, his groin damp, and his cheeks warm.

Sticks voice rang in his head, _“Fucking pansy boy, such a little bitch, can_ _’t even take a hit without pissing yourself like a baby-_ _“_

Matt gasped a little, shaking his head and clenching his eyes; Stick is _dead_ -

_Focus, focus, focus._

He listened for the shuffling feet, but they were far from him. Matt could’ve cried then and there but he had to break from the restraints first-

Or else he’d be stuck, and the shuffling feet would eventually be back for _more_ and-

_Focus_.

The restraints were actually thick leather belts, and even if he dislocated both thumbs, they were far too tight to slip through; his fingers and toes were tingling from the lack of circulation already.

The rosary laid on the table next to him would be no help, he had no reach in this position, and nothing to break or sharpen the wooden cross with.

Medical supplies to his right, he remembered, smelling pungent hydrogen peroxide and mildewed cotton swaps. Nothing there either.

Matt gently yanked on the belts, hoping that something would give; even one bedpost would be enough. He could break free and-

And then what? He hadn’t heard a car since he’d woken the first time. The only sounds in the Godforsaken building were shuffling feet and soft, even breathing; not an unnecessary word had been spoken. Of course, his own suffering added to the soundtrack, but he preferred to ignore it as he attempted to meditate through the torture.

Matt sighed, his back stinging with the movement. The burst of pain only fueled his anger and he found himself pulling on the belts again, harder than intended. The bed creaked in defiance, a noise that made Matt’s heart jump; the shuffling feet didn’t seem to react, so he allowed himself to breathe once more.

Alas, the wood was solid, and if he thrashed any harder he would only alert someone to his consciousness.

He fell forward into the mattress, letting his sore body go limp for the time being. He didn’t know when they’d be back.

Hell, he didn’t even know who they were; what they wanted, and what they had planned were the more ominous questions.

Matt had far more questions than answers and it uneased him; he wasn’t even sure if anyone was looking for him – who knows what happened after Midland Circle, who knows how he got to this point?

He didn’t remember anything but the sounds of shuffling feet and cold chain-

Matt froze as footsteps came near, forcing his body to go lax and settling his breathing. He closed his eyes just as the door opened and a woman walked in, the cloth around her head shifting as she came near-

Cloth around her head? Matt nearly frowned. The sound reminded him of his time at Saint Agnes.

_Nuns?_

Before he could follow that train of thought, the clanking of a chain sounded next to him.

Had the nuns beaten him? With chains-

Correction. They were going to beat him _again_ – with chains.

Matt didn’t move an inch as he listened to her movements. The woman – the nun – he was nearly sure of it, was running her hands along the length of chain, caressing it like it was precious. 

And she was staring right at him.

“I know you’re awake, Matthew. I always know.”

Without warning, the air shifted as the chain whipped downwards, hitting his bottom with a resounding smack. Despite his best effort, he flinched, feeling the skin start to welt up immediately.

The woman laughed, a soft warm sound- a familiar one, yet one he couldn't place. 

Matt let himself frown this time, attempting to catch his breath as the woman ruthlessly whipped at his thighs, finally stopping as she reached the bend of his knee.

“Why?” Matt spoke for the first time since he’d woken up, not recognizing his own voice, “ _Why_ are you doing this?!”

“Don’t use that tone with me, Matthew-“

“How do you know my name?! _What_ do you want from me-“

Matt was thrashing against his restraints, fresh anger giving him energy to burn. The woman placed the chain down on the table to the side of the bed, her small hand coming up to touch his forehead.

“Now, _stop_ that, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

He could’ve laughed at the irony, but he settled down nonetheless, not having the life in him to do anything else. The woman hummed, pulling her hand away from his forehead, sounding displeased.

“Why, mister, I do believe you have a fever.”

Matt growled, baring his teeth. A fever was the least of his worries, and the strange woman hadn’t answered any of his questions.

“Stop that, Matthew. Stay here and I’ll fetch the nurse.”

The woman started to move away, and as she turned, her right knee gave out a bit. She was forced to limp away from him, her gait inhibited by the old injury.

It would've been a perfect time for an attack, but he could barely breathe without seizing up in pain. 

Matt grimaced, pulling at his restraints mercilessly as she left the room; being quiet hadn’t worked and he had nothing to lose. Fresh welts were developing on his body from the waist down, and every movement was torture.

But by the grace of God, Matt felt one of the posts start to give, ever so slightly.

The shuffling was returning, two pairs of feet this time. He stilled, listening to the creaking of the door as it opened. It was the same woman, the only one who had spoken to him thus far, and the one who had also acted as his confidant directly after slinging a chain down onto his back. A larger woman was at her side, a bag in hand.

“Matthew, this is our nurse. She’s going to look after you for the time being.”

Suddenly, cool hands - not unkind - were at his back, cutting away at the ace bandage that had been wrapped around his ribs. He was left in his soiled boxers, flinching away from the nurse’s hands as she examined his skin, humming in displeasure.

“Sister Maggie, I’m going to need him out of the belts. He really needs to shower; although a sponge bath will suffice. Fresh clothing and linen as well, as it looks like-“

“Thank you, I’ll get the others on it.” _Sister Maggie,_ Matthew thought, that was her name – and they were nuns.

Matt was pulled out of his thoughts by a hand through his hair. He flinched and pulled away as much as he could. “Until then, I’ll take to getting Matthew clean.” She turned to the nurse. “Will you come back to rebandage him after, Sister Abigail?”

“Of course.”

The nurse – Sister Abigail – moved away from the bed, sparing a look back at him; Matt smelt the worry bleeding off of her. Before he could think to elaborate on that, another pair of hands, warmer than the nurse’s, were at his wrists, ready to undo his bindings. Matt’s heart skipped a beat.

“Now, Matthew, you promise to be a good boy, right? I’d hate to have to hurt you again. I want you to know this is only supposed to teach you a lesson-“

Matt cleared his throat, swallowing down his pride; this woman was _insane_ , he just needed a chance to get away and then he’d figure out the rest.

“Yes, I promise.”

“No, no. Matthew, you promise what?”

Matt frowned, his tongue running over chapped lips. His words were small and gritted out through a clenched jaw, more of a growl than anything. “I promise, to be a good boy.”

The woman seemed satisfied with his response, finishing her ministrations. His wrists were free, but his ankles were still bound. She moved down the bed, pausing at his ankles.

Suddenly, time seemed to stop, and the woman who had sounded so kind before seemed to mimic his previous growl, speaking quietly. 

“If you try anything, you’ll regret it.”

Matt’s blood ran cold as her heart remained steady; she believed he would regret it.

But she had also believed the part about teaching him some sort of lesson; she was probably _crazy_ , and he was going to need to figure out an escape ASAP - there was no time to rest. 

Although, she was probably correct about the regret; after Midland, his body was completely bruised and in most places, broken. Her “lessons” had only made things worse. Every breath was painful, and he was sure that it wouldn’t have been as bad if a building hadn’t collapsed on top of him beforehand.

“I understand.”

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to try anything just yet – gain trust and then attack after he gained some strength.

But, Matt's mind supplied, she was only one old lady, and the rest of them seemed easily unequipped; who knows how long he had actually been here, and who knows what had happened to his friends after Midland.

He needed to get back as soon as possible, but at this point in time, he could barely lift his legs off the bed; energy was in short supply and he hadn’t eaten in what felt like weeks. Matt felt undeniably lighter and completely weakened.

_And_ if nobody had found him yet, then maybe nobody was looking. Maybe he was all by himself here, and maybe, just maybe, he would have to find a way out that didn’t involve fists from the get-go.

His ankles were free, but Matt found himself frozen in place.

_Good boy._

“Come on, son.”

The woman – Sister Maggie – was helping to sit him up, hands surprisingly strong. Matt heaved a breath as he sat on the edge of the bed, his bottom and his legs burning as they met the cloth. His ribs ached, and he could tell that they were broken to some extent. The hair on his face tickled at his throat, some of it reaching his collarbone. He frowned and thought back to when he first woke up, how the length of his hair told him that he hadn’t shaved in two months or so.

Foggy was probably _freaking_ out-

Or, Matt thought sickly, he wasn’t. Maybe Foggy was glad to have gotten rid of him and his antics.

He inhaled sharply, regretting the pull on his ribs as he did so. Sister Maggie rubbed his shoulder gently, bringing him back to the present.

“There, there, get your bearings. We have plenty of time, there’s no rush.”

_Plenty of time_ , Matt thought, grimacing as his stomach rolled and he gagged, bile flowing down his chin and onto the floor as Sister Maggie held him up, calling the nurse back into the room. 

Plenty of time.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not my favorite chapter, but I felt like a little backstory was needed.

**Chapter Nine: Six Months Ago** **– Unknown Location**

 

She had drugged him.

She kept saying it would help with the pain; that he had been a _good boy_ , and he had deserved it.

“There we are.”

Sister Maggie had half carried him to the bathroom with the help of another woman. Matt could feel his face heating as he was sat on the toilet lid, listening to a bath being drawn.

The vomit on his body made him feel sick, as well as the dried urine that had permeated his boxers. He was in no condition to fight back, and he had only come to this conclusion after he had been unable to stand unaided; the unexpected needle prick to his neck after he had puked had also helped in making him feel like human Jello.

_At least they_ _’re being kind_ , he thought.

Matt was still wary around Sister Maggie, as she seemed to be kind one minute and ruthless the next. It was as if she was delivering some sort of tough love treatment; like she thought she was actually helping him.

“Come on, son, time to bathe.” She poured in some Epsom salt, swirling it around with a slightly arthritic hand.

The two women took him by the sides once more, grappling him near the tub, still partially clothed. He could barely hold his head up as Sister Maggie pulled off his boxers, lifting his feet easily even though they felt like bricks to him. His face heated up as he realized he was completely naked in a bathroom with two nuns.

Father Lantom would have his hide.

“Careful, careful.”

Matt found himself sitting in the tub, his skin stinging as the warm water lapped at his body. The second lady said her goodbyes and left him with Sister Maggie, who kept a steady hand on his back to keep him upright.

The drugs and the water made him feel as if he was floating, and he could do nothing as she ran a washcloth methodically over his body. She was mindful of the wounds she had inflicted, and if Matt could’ve laughed, he would’ve.

“This brings me back.” Sister Maggie hummed thoughtfully, her voice softer than it had been. Matt felt himself frown a little, attempting to process the words as her hands ran over his arms.

“You probably don’t remember, just a baby.” She cupped some water in her hand and poured it over his head, keeping it out of his eyes as she did so. “Such a beautiful baby boy, Matthew. Best thing I ever did.”

Then there was a hand on his chin, and he felt his head lift a bit.

“Do you understand, Matthew?”

Matt didn’t, actually. The only thing he could concentrate on was the sound of the water sloshing up against the tub walls, and the slight rust smell that surrounded the tub.

“Matthew?” She asked again, rubbing a hand on his cheek to bring him back to some form of awareness.

“I’m your mother.”

Matt found himself listening to her heart, steady as ever; that was another thing about Sister Maggie, her heart never stuttered – not when she beat him with chains, or when she threatened him.

Matt’s did, as her words echoed around them, bouncing off of the water he sat in, and the tiled walls. He shook his head best he could, huffing a little as he tried to get his tongue to work.

“My mom, she, she left.”

“I know, I know I left, son. I was sick, and I was a bad mother and now I’m going to fix it.” She smiled a bit, and Matt clenched his eyes, disbelieving. Sister Maggie ran a hand through his hair, and Matt wanted to gag yet again.

“I’m going to fix you.”  


//

 

“Your friend dropped you here.” Sister Maggie paused, sipping her tea, sat back in an old chair at his bedside. “I’m not sure how she found me, but she did. Long dark hair, tan skin. _Really_ pretty young lady with an accent.”

Matt shivered.

“Are you cold? I can fetch another blanket-”

Matt shook his head, shifting in bed. He was restrained once more, but this time he was on his back. It was uncomfortable, but he had been rebandaged, so his skin wasn’t as raw as before; he was still having trouble grasping how the woman next to him had single-handedly hurt him and then taken care of him – never mind the fact that she was honestly claiming to be his long-lost mother.

“Alright, well, I’ll continue then.” She sighed, smoothing out her black gown. “The woman came to us, said she had you outside, and that you were hurt. Then she carried you in, and you were wearing that Godforsaken devil outfit.” Sister Maggie shook her head. “First thing I did was cut it off of you. I couldn’t stand to see my son dressed like that, especially in here. I destroyed it and had one of the girls bury it outside, off the premises. The minute you had gotten an IV and bandages, the woman left.”

“You were unconscious for a long while, and Sister Abigail was worried you weren’t going to wake. I know we don’t have fancy equipment, but I knew that if it was meant to happen, it would. I prayed over you for weeks, and after a month, you came back to me.”

“I was,” Matt swallowed, heart racing uncomfortably as he took in the information spewing from Sister Maggie’s mouth. “I was out of it for that long?”

Sister Maggie grabbed his hand, and Matt winced, although she didn’t notice. “Yes, son, and even after you woke up that first time it took a while for you to actually gain awareness. It’s been around a month since we got you, and that woman hasn’t come back since.”

Matt nodded, swallowing against the lump in his throat.

Elektra was alive – well, as alive as one can be without a beating heart. She had cared enough to dig him out of the rubble and bring him here. Foggy and the others probably had no clue, and it’d already been a month. Now he had a mother or at least a woman who claimed to be his mother, and she had hurt him. She had helped him and hurt him and then helped him once more.

She knew he was Daredevil and she hadn’t killed him on the spot, and now she was holding his hand after bathing him and-

Matt felt _sick_ , everything was warped and his ‘mother’ was probably insane, and the drugs were still drowning out any logical thought and Foggy and Karen most likely thought he was dead and-

No one was looking for him.

_Not a soul._


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters because I don't like leaving things on a bad note. Let me know if you guys are enjoying this stuff! I know it's slow going but I like to think it's all coming together nicely.

**Chapter Ten: Present Time**

 

Getting Matt into the apartment was difficult, but Foggy managed with Karen’s help.

Well, Karen wasn’t allowed to touch Matt, so the extent of her assistance was opening doors and looking on worriedly as she hovered. Despite everything, Foggy was eternally grateful to have her emotional support, and he felt like Matt did as well.

“Almost there.”

Foggy was breathing heavily by the time they reached his door, but Matt looked much worse; his skin had grown pale and glossy with sweat and his shivering hadn’t subsided much.

Foggy cursed as Karen unlocked and opened the door, revealing an entirely different layout than Matt was used to.

It had been a coping method, really. A petty _fuck your ex-boyfriend_ moment if Foggy ever had one. The equivalent to burning cute couple pictures or covering up a shameful name tattoo. Rearranging the furniture like he had always wanted but had never done because he hadn’t wanted Matt to have to memorize an entirely different home. After their breakup, he and Marci had gone out with his fancy lawyering money and he’d bought nice furniture. He’d bought a new bed (Tempur-Pedic), a new couch (genuine leather), even a new fucking fridge (touchscreen and everything).

Foggy didn’t think he’d end up regretting it at the time, but now, looking at Matt’s confused (and slightly disappointed) expression, he found that he did.

_Even if he shouldn_ _’t_. He had a right to change things. He still had the right. It wasn’t like Matt had been living with him or anything. It was Foggy’s damn apartment.

But it was Matt’s home.

“Okay, Matty, I’m going to walk you through to the bedroom.”

Matt nodded, arm around Foggy’s neck, clutching tightly. Foggy moved his way into the threshold, Karen following suit and shutting the door.

“Watch out there’s a rug,” Foggy carefully watched Matt’s feet step over the rug, the blind man’s eyes gazing around, giving away his confusion. “Couch corner to your right, don’t knock your hip-“

Matt nodded, stiffly moving out of the way. They made their way down the hallway, which had thankfully been left alone. Foggy led him through to the bedroom, glancing over the two of them, still soaking wet from the downpour at the cemetery.

Karen hovered behind them, looking just as cold as they were.

Foggy led Matt to the bed, not caring if he dirtied the comforter. Matt, on the other hand, paused.

“No, uh, I’m a mess, I can, I can sit on the floor or-“

Foggy shook his head in disapproval, “No way, buddy, it’s fine. We’ll get you into the shower soon enough, just need to turn the heat on and grab some clothes.” He helped lower the man onto the mattress, ignoring Matt’s uncomfortable face.

“Really, Foggy, you don’t have to-“

Foggy rubbed at his cheek, heart breaking a bit as Matt flinched. He was going to _kill_ whoever-

“Really, Matt, I do. It’s fine.” Foggy kissed his forehead, something he used to do all the time in passing at the office, and every morning when they woke up together, in this very room; Matt’s face flushed red, and this time Foggy knew it wasn’t from exertion – he was _squishy_ where it mattered, despite his gruff and cocky exterior. “I love you, please let me help.”

Matt swallowed, eyes dancing over the floor. Foggy was going to have to go out and get him new glasses, he knew Matt hated not having them.

“I’m sorry-“

Foggy put a finger to his lips, smiling as the man squeaked a little, “No more apologies, just sit back and relax. Mi casa es tu casa.”

Karen shifted from the hallway, pulling out her slightly damp cellphone. “I’m going to let Claire know that we found him.”

Foggy nodded his thanks, running one last hand through Matt’s hair.

It was like he couldn’t get enough of the man. They’d always been touchy before, and after Matt’s supposed death Foggy had wanted nothing more than to have the man back in his arms. Matt seemed to be comforted and grounded by his touch, even if he startled easier now.

Foggy found himself staring at Matt, who was way too skinny and generally weak. But he was alive, and that was all that mattered. They would figure out the rest.

“Okay, so I’m going to go turn up the thermostat. Then I’ll grab some dry clothes for the three of us. You good here for a minute?”

Matt nodded, hands clasped in his lap. His wet hair was sticking to his forehead, and his eyes were flittering across the room, almost uneasily. Matt’s feet were dangling above the floor, which was new because this bed was much taller than his old one. It made him look even more like sad puppy, and it hurt Foggy’s heart.

 He reluctantly left Matt in his bedroom, making his way into the living room where Karen and the thermostat resided.

“Right.” Karen nodded, an ear to her phone. “We’ll keep an eye on him. Of course. You too.”

Foggy looked at her as she hung up, smiling softly as he came towards her. He wrapped his arms around Karen and hugged her close. She followed suit, cold, wet hair tickling Foggy’s arm.

“It’ll be okay, Karen. You were great today.”

She sighed over his shoulder, shaking her head. “I don’t know if I would call it great, but I’m doing my best. I just, I want to see him better, you know?”

Foggy nodded, squeezing one last time before letting her go. He knew Matt could hear them if he really concentrated, despite his condition. He didn’t want to make the man feel even more unwelcome; or for fuck's sake, pressured to be back to normal.

Foggy cranked the heat up (and he didn’t even bother to think about the bill, because he was financially stable for the first time in his adult life, and wow, _that_ was weird) and moved to the linen closet in the corner, gathering extra blankets, towels, and the Nelson family quilt that his grandmother had sewn; Matt’s favorite.

“I’ll go grab some clothes if you want to shower and hang out? You can take the hallway bathroom.”

Karen smiled, nodding her thanks as Foggy handed her a clean towel.

He moved back into the bedroom, smiling sadly at the scene in front of him. Matt had somehow gotten onto the floor, curled in a fetal position, legs tucked against his chest as he dozed; he was still shivering in his sleep, and Foggy was worried.

He dug through his dresser, finding two pairs of sweatpants with drawstrings for his slighter friends. Foggy plucked two pairs of boxers, hoping the elastic would work, along with t-shirts and socks. He decided on adding a hoodie to Matt’s ensemble, too.

He found Karen in the living room, attempting to tame her long locks. “Here are some clothes, Karebear.”

She thanked him before disappearing into the bathroom.

Now he only had one person to worry about; probably the only person in his life who he’d ever had to worry about enough to the point of developing stomach ulcers.

Foggy sighed as he looked at his sleeping, what? Best friend? Ex-not-dead-boyfriend?

Matt sniffled in response.


End file.
